


A lot of non-celebrated birthdays to honor

by Imjohnlocked87



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Awesome John Watson, Birthday Cake, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Butt Plugs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes's Birthday, Top John Watson, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imjohnlocked87/pseuds/Imjohnlocked87
Summary: For the first time in his life, Sherlock is happy to celebrate his birthday. And, for the first time also, John manages to surprise him.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 165
Collections: Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes - 6.1.2020





	A lot of non-celebrated birthdays to honor

"John, don't you think this is a bit excessive?" asked Molly, looking at the number of boxes that covered the floor of her living room.

"It only lacks a couple of parcels more," said the doctor, instead of answering.

"A couple? You are aware Sherlock doesn't like celebrating his birthday, aren't you?"

"Of course he likes it. He only pretends not. He enjoyed a lot preparing my birthday".

Molly raised her hands in a sign of surrender.

"Ok. You know him better than me. But don't come crying when he kicks you and your boxes out of the flat."

John smiled.

"That won't happen" he checked his watch, "so tomorrow…"

"I'll tell him I have a magnificent corpse in the morgue waiting for him, so you can set the house for the party. Don't worry. Everything will be fine".

"I hope so. Well, I have to go now. Thanks a lot, Molly".

"No, no thanks a lot. You owe me one".

"See you" John disappeared downstairs, running to the last shop he wanted to visit.

Molly was right. He owed one to her. The poor woman had been receiving all the packages John purchased. He didn't want Sherlock to suspect anything about what he was preparing. And it wasn't easy, living with the only one in the world consulting detective.

Luckily, Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson were willing to help him when he explained his plan.

Convincing Mycroft was a bit more complicated (actually quite complicated), but with Lestrade's help, he finally managed to obtain the information he needed from him. And he even promised to attend the party.

Hours later, when he arrived home, Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, reading a book.

"You look tired," said the detective when John bent to kiss him in the lips, "Hard day at work?"

"Yes, flu season," lied the doctor, fleeing to the kitchen to fill the kettle and make tea. He smiled at him since he didn't feel Sherlock's gaze fixed on his back, which meant he didn't suspect anything. He prepared two cups of tea and disposed on two plates the Thai take away he bought before getting back to the flat.

They had dinner while watching a documentary about the universe. (John handn't lost hope Sherlock put the Solar System inside his Mental Palace again). But he was afraid Sherlock noticed how excited he was about tomorrow. So while the detective was absorbed by the chemical composition of Jupiter's atmosphere, he disappeared in their bedroom.

********

The next morning, Sherlock smirked when Molly called him, speaking gibberish about the last corpse arrived at the morgue. He, of course, knew John was preparing him a surprise birthday party and that Molly's call was only an excuse to take him away from home.

In fact, he was happy to celebrate his birthday. If he did not honor them before, it was not because of age, nor the passage of time. It was because he had no one to do so with, and nothing increased his feeling of loneliness more than the futile attempts of birthday parties attended only by his parents and Mycroft.

But this was the first birthday since John and he were together, which made it special. And he didn't care about how old he was. Sherlock was living the happiest time of his life, and he felt younger than ever. According to the number of times he had celebrated the day he was born, he was around fourteen now.

The only thing that bothered him was he hadn't found the present John bought for him. Because he was sure John did it. John loved gifts, to give and receive them. But though he had scavenged all over the flat, he hadn't found anything.

The corpse wasn't different from any other at the morgue. Still, Sherlock performed several experiments on it, amused by Molly keeping an eye of him, thinking he wasn't able to see her, sending quick phone messages, probably to John.

Three hours later, the pathologist entered the lab.

"Maybe you should start thinking to go home, well...," she said, trying to look neutral, but biting her lower lip, insecure.

"Let me finish this, and I'll go. It will only take me around half an hour," he explained, knowing she was dying to ask him precisely that. She nodded and ran again to the next room.

Sherlock decided to walk home and give them more time to get everything ready. Along the way, he tried to guess what John could have bought him. Something for the violin? No, he just gave him a new case at Christmas. Clothes? No. John knew Sherlock was very picky about buying his clothes. He snapped his tongue. John managed to trick him.

He groaned when he saw the black car in front of the door. He secretly hoped John hadn't invited Mycroft, though he was sure he would do it.

He climbed the stairs to the door flat and remembered himself to put on a surprised face when he found everyone there.

"Surprise!" cried John, Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft.

But he needn't pretend.

He gaped.

He truly gaped.

Not for seeing John, Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft sat the table.

Not for the table covered with food.

Nor by the "happy birthday" letters pinned to the wall or the balloons. 

What shocked him was the living room covered with packs of different sizes and forms. There should be around fifty of them, surrounding John, his brother, and their friends.

"Thanks" finally, he achieved to mutter. He frowned

"John, what is this?"

"Hmmm, let me think. Your birthday party?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean," he said, gesturing towards the packets.

John stood and moved to him, who was still near the door, as the others looked at Sherlock, amused.

"I wanted to compensate you for every birthday you didn't celebrate. For every time you think it wasn't worthy of honoring the day you were born".

Sherlock blinked and shook a bit his head.

"Why?"

"Because if you weren't born or alive to celebrate it, I wouldn't be the happiest and luckiest person in the world. You give my life meaning, Sherlock Holmes, even when you are a bloody pain in the ass".

The detective blinked again, overwhelmed. John chuckled.

"But…."

"In Spain, there is a tradition called The Three Magic Kings, by which on January 6th they bring children gifts, as Santa does at Christmas. So, I decided to play the Three Kings and bring you all the presents you would have received if you had celebrated all your birthdays.

"But how old do you think I am? Here are more than fifty…"

"He calculated the gifts you didn't receive since when you stopped celebrating and the ones they would have given you if your friends had known when your birthday was," explained Mycroft.

"I… I don't know what to say. I never thought anyone would be happy because I was born".

"Oh, dear," sighed Mrs. Hudson.

"Me either" mocked Lestrade. Molly elbowed him.

You are mad," said Sherlock softly, blinking to fight the tears that threatened to come to his eyes," Totally out of your mind."

"About you."

"Please, my blood sugar is reaching dangerous levels," complained Mycroft, sighing dramatically.

Greg looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you dare" menaced the British Government.

"Why not, _Mon petit Chou Chou?"_ the rest howled with laughter as Mycroft scowled, mouthing threats against him "Remember I could tell them worse things you call me when we are in bed."

"Traitor…"

"Please, Greg, enlighten us," begged Sherlock, amidst laughter.

"We should start eating before the food gets cold," mediated Molly, fearing an escalation of bedroom secrets.

They ate, chatting and laughing and, when they were finishing, the doorbell rang. It was Angelo, who brought a three chocolate cake that reproduced Sherlock's violin.

He put it on the table and started lighting the little candles that covered the surface of it. Then he congratulated Sherlock and excused himself; he had to rush to the restaurant.

"You don't expect me to blow out the candles, do you?" protested Sherlock.

"Of course, you'll do it. When are we going to sing Happy Birthday to you, otherwise?" teased Molly.

Sherlock groaned. But he didn't want to disappoint John, so he blew the candles, made a wish while doing it, and blushed when the others sang to him.

One by one, he opened all the presents. He was speechless. Books, new research equipment and materials, agendas…

"But… this is too much," he gasped, caressing the facsimiles of Paganini's original scores he just unwrapped.

"You deserved all of this and much more," said John "Happy this and the un-celebrated birthdays. They also helped me to figure out what to buy you and to find it," he explained, throwing a thankful smile to the others.

"Yeah, MI6's members were thrilled with the mission," sneered Mycroft.

"Even Anderson and Donovan helped," said Molly.

"So some of the gifts may be poisoned, be careful," joked Greg.

"Don't be like that," Mrs. Hudson scolded them.

Three hours later, when everyone had left, Sherlock and John dropped off on the couch, the first smothered, the second exhausted.

"You are amazing, John Watson," said Sherlock, cupping John's head between his hands and kissing him softly on the lips. "Every time I think you can't surprise me anymore, you achieve to do it."

The doctor smiled proudly, kissing him back.

Sherlock stared at him for a bit. He took the doctor's feet and put them in his lap.

He took off his socks and put both of his thumbs inside the right foot's arch and moved them with slow, circular motions, up to the ball of the foot, and went back down to the heel, pushing deep with his thumbs, working the pressure points.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh" moaned John, relaxing at Sherlock's touch, as the skilled violinist's fingers massaged his toes gently. Sherlock moved slowly towards the ankle bone of the inside of John's leg.

John bit his lips when Sherlock rubbed his thumbs below the ankle bone, applying a bit of more pressure gradually. Without stopping the circular motion, he moved below the ankle back toward the Achilles tendon and applied a little pressure on it.

"Does it feel ok?" asked Sherlock.

"hmmm, hmmm," hummed John, his eyes closed. The foot massage was connecting directly with his cock, which twitched under his clothes, getting harder when Sherlock's hands moved up towards the back of his knee, sensually caressing it, then moved down to his foot again. He started massaging the other foot, his hands again closed up to his knee, back to the foot, as John moaned quietly, his eyes closed.

He opened them when Sherlock moved to undo his belt, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down as John raised his hips to help him to do it.

"It will feel better this way."

"Perfect," muttered John. Sherlock rolled the sleeves of his shirt and knelt in front of John's feet. His hands ran from the doctor's ankles to his knees, and continued a bit upper, almost reaching the inner tights, to go back again to the feet.

"Are you sure this is still a foot massage?" mockingly panted the doctor, with a hoarse voice, his body shivering at the touch.

"Of course. I'm improving your blood circulation. Just relax and enjoy," the detective replied, lowering his tone, caressing his inner tights again. This time his fingers almost reaching John's hips, while his throbbing cock tried to escape from his pants.

"I'd better take them off, lest they get stained," Sherlocks' hands reached under John's pants, avoiding touching him and took them off.

John emitted a choked growl when his cock jumped freely to rest on his stomach, the tip covered with precum.

"Ohhhhhh, my," he moaned when the detective took his big toe in his mouth and lapped and sucked it, looking at him, obscenely moaning and moving his tongue around the toe while doing it. 

Sherlock's tongue travelled over the ankle and the leg, rested a bit of the back of the knee. His cock ached with John's choked giggling mixed with moans and groans.

"That….mmmmmmm fuck tickles," he protested.

"Are you sure?" teased the detective, giving the same predicament to the other knee.

"Stop it!" John pretended it to be an order, but it came out like a whimper. He shook his leg, trying to get the detective far from his knee, but Sherlock's tongue stuck to it like a limpet, dodging John's kicks.

"I swear I'll tie you up and..., fuck Sherlock!" he moaned, as the detective's flat tongue licked his shaft, from the bottom to the tip and flicking his tongue on it, and then rubbed his tongue again to the base of the shaft, looking intensely to John's eyes as he did it. He spread John's legs and rubbed the tips of his fingers over his arse and scrotum.

John abandoned himself to the feeling of Sherlock's wet, willing mouth, and soft fingertips.

"But… but… it's your birthday," he achieved to say.

It should be him who was doing this to the detective, but neither his body nor his mind were able to now separate Sherlock's mouth from his cock, his fingers from his ass and his balls.

"Hmmmmmmmmm," the detective moaned in response, getting the doctor mad.

He wished he had prepared Sherlock's arse. He could only think about ripping Sherlock's clothes off and ramming his cock up his ass in one shot, making him howl, submitting his body as he insanely thrust inside him. This vision got him crazy along with the detective's mouth, wolfing his hard, large cock.

"Sherlock, I'm…. I'm going to..." he grunted, his orgasm getting near and near and... stopped before reaching the point of no return because the detective took his cock out of his mouth.

"Why...?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"As you said, it's my birthday," said Sherlock. He undid his belt and slid his trousers down his legs to the floor and did the same with his pants, freeing his hard cock. Then moved his hands to his ass, and a wet pop sounded when he removed an anal plug, his hole brilliant with the lube. He threw it across the living room and looked at John.

John swallowed, his mouth dry, looking first at the discarded plug and then at Sherlock, his almost orgasmic brain taking its time to realize it.

Until he did.

He stood, growling so loud that Sherlock took a step back, and before the detective could know what was happening, John grabbed him by the arse, pushed him up, and banged him to one of the bookshelves. He kissed him fiercely, nibbling his lips, making Sherlock whine, his mouth leaving red marks along the detective's neck.

Books and folders fell to the ground as Sherlock grabbed one of the shelves over his head with both hands and firmly wrapped his legs around the doctor's waist. He raised his hips while John grabbed his arse, controlling the movement as Sherlock sank on him. They both groaned while John stabbed him with his hot, large, and throbbing cock until he bottomed out.

Sherlock threw his head back as much as the bookshelf allowed him, his mouth wide open though no sound came out of it, gasping for air, feeling so delightfully full.

"This is what you wanted, right? To be impaled like this," asked John with a low rumble in Sherlock's ear, making him shudder and nod without being able to talk. "Are you sure?".

New nod.

"Because when I start fucking you, I'm not going to stop, no matter how much you beg or scream."

Sherlock groaned, arching into John's hips, his cock about to exploding trapped between their bodies. John grasped his plump cheeks tighter and pulled them apart, allowing him to bury his cock even deeper inside Sherlock.

"nggggggggggg gooogdddddddddddd" whimpered the detective, unable to form words, as John rolled his hips. "John...... plssssss".

"Please, what?"

"Ffffuck mmmmm."

"I'm fucking you…" and John pushed up a bit the detective's body and let it fall on his cock.

"Oh, gdddddddd" Sherlock strangled cry turned into a loud moan when John started thrusting inside him, slow at first, increasing the speed of his ramming, making Sherlock mewl in pleasure. 

"Faster," he gasped between moans, panting through his open mouth. 

John complied, hitting his prostate with fast and deeper thrusts, as Sherlock wailed, the sounds coming from within him turning into high-pitched whines. Sherlock tried to reach his cock between them, but John pinned his arm again to the bookshelf.

"No," he grunted, "You won't come until I let you."

"I… I can't …mmmmm. I ahhhhhhhhhhh holy shit!" he cursed when John slammed his cock harder inside him, grunting with each push.

"But I do," panted John. "I can fuck you like this the whole day," John growled. Sherlock's body stirred, a spasm of pleasure running through him, feeling John's strong body pressing him against the shelf with every energic thrust, without any trace of fatigue.

"nnnggggggggggghhhhhhhh" the detective wriggled as John moaned aloud. Sherlock clenched his teeth, trying to hold the orgasm about to explode inside him. John slammed his prostate at an impossible pace, making Sherlock moan so aloud that his throat ached.

"You feel sooo good,….." grunted John, also trying to control himself to not cum almost immediately with Sherlock's sounds and movements.

"Ahmmmmmm John mmmm fuck I..." Sherlock closed his eyes, trashing his head wildly. He grabbed John by his neck, kissing him deeply, almost fucking John's mouth with his tongue, making him growl in pleasure, his legs trembling both for the effort and the closeness of his orgasm.

His right hand grabbed Sherlock's neglected cock and started stroking up and down.

"ooooooooooooooh gddd ahhhhhhhhhhhh" Sherlock's moans were now a mix of choked hums and beggings, his whole body shaking, desperate to come.

"Do you want to come?" John asked, and Sherlock nodded frantically, clasping his hands on John back. John's cock was driving him to the point of delirium. He stuck his teeth into John's shoulder, making him hiss in pain and groan in pleasure.

"Come for me, honey," grumbled John, increasing, even possible, the speed of his thrusts.

Sherlock let his orgasm tear through him, his whole body rigid, almost unable to breathe, as his cock spurted between them. Finally, he produced a long deep moan, squeezing John's cock with his muscles. John came hard inside him, howling and hissing between his teeth, filling Sherlock's arse with cum. The detective moaned again at the warm feeling.

Exhausted, John leaned his head on the detective's shoulder, and Sherlock kissed his head, both still shivering a bit.

"Happy birthday," panted John.

"Fucking happy birthday would be a more accurate expression," gulped Sherlock, and John chuckled.

They remained silent for a bit, closed eyes, frazzled bodies floating in sexual joy.

"John."

"hmmm."

"Put me down."

"Ooops," John took his cock out of him, and Sherlock unwrapped his legs and put his feet on the floor.

Limping slightly, he went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, cut two big pieces of cake, and gave one to John, who had moved behind him. Sherlock kissed him, tasting the chocolate aroma from John's mouth and took his hand, guiding them to their bedroom. He jumped onto the bed, still cramming the cake down.

John climbed, lied next to him and embraced Sherlock when he rested his head against his chest, closing his eyes and sighed deeply.

"I can't believe you had the plug in your arse the whole day," said John.

"The prize deserved it," muttered Sherlock, chewing his last piece of cake and looking at John with puppy eyes.

"Ok, take it," he sighed, giving his almost whole piece to him. Sherlock took a big bite and moved it near to John's mouth, so he could do the same.

"No, eat it. You are going to need it" Sherlock looked at him, questioningly. He smiled mischievously, making Sherlock's cock throb. "We still have a lot of non-celebrated birthdays to honor."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the collection Happy birthday Sherlock Holmes! 
> 
> In Spain, as Santa does on the 25th December, the Three Magic Kings bring presents to children on the 6th of January, which is good since it's a double chance to receive presents!  
> I don't know if this tradition exists in other countries, this is why in the work it only refers to Spain.


End file.
